Thirty Days Of WTF?
by Spike is the BIG BAD
Summary: The Scoobies are off to Alaska to petition a dust witch to reverse the nerd trio's spell on Buffy. They arrive in Barrow just as the town is overrun by the scariest vampires in the universe.
1. WTH?

"Umm – what the hell're we going to Alaska for?" Xander asked.

Buffy answered, "Ask Giles."

"Umm –" Giles replied, "Because Buffy's slayer powers were impacted negatively due to the curse laid upon her, by –"

"The nerd trio," Buffy finished.

Giles frowned. He disliked having his sentences finished for him, but at least he was spared the awkwardness of employing the slang term for Warren, Jonathan and Andrew.

Spike slapped Andrew on the side of the head. "Hear that, idiot?"

He clutched the side of his own head and winced.

"The chip, Spike," Willow cautioned.

"Thanks for the warning," he returned. "It was worth it, though. You want me to kill the little prat for you? I could drop him off Sunnydale Gorge, t'would probably cause just a medium headache."

Andrew shifted his feet nervously within the confining ropes that bound him to Giles' dining chair. "Aw, c'mon Spike," he whined, "I thought we had something going."

"What?" the vampire opened and closed his fingers like an eagle testing its talons.

"Friendship. A certain favor my pal Warren did for you?"

"Shut your gob!" Spike didn't want Andrew mentioning the Buffy-bot Warren had constructed for him. The Scoobies knew, of course, of his "thing" for Buffy, but Andrew might know details about the special programming he had demanded Warren put in the 'bot. Having his sexual peccadilloes known to them and undoubtedly thrown mockingly in his face, most assuredly by Xander, would be too much to handle. He would be obliged to go wild and kill them all, and the inhibitor chip the Initiative had surgically placed in his skull would give him the king of all headaches.

"We shan't need to kill anyone, Spike," Giles said thinly, "and we will in fact need to take the little prat with us."

"All _right_," Andrew enthused, "I'm part of the team."  
Spike sneered. "No, you're not. You're just a necessary evil."

"And like, so are you," Xander sniped.

Spike growled at him, and his own reaction surprised him. He had intended to vamp out to throw fear into Xander. Spike had a theory that the youth was at heart a coward, and he longed to cause a pee-pee burst in the burk's checkered pants. It irritated him that vamping was becoming more difficult, at least when presenting to humans. He worried a lot that he was losing his primal vampire identity through his dread of the chip.

Xander chuckled. "Grrr," he riposted, clawing his fingers. Always mocking, this one. Spike snapped his teeth shut at him.

"Well, have a good trip," Spike told them and headed for the door. The indifference he showed them was empowering. They seemed to think he enjoyed their company and wished to be part of the group. He supposed it was his own fault, since he kept seeking them out and asking to be part of the group. But, it had certainly led to some interesting misadventures, such as the night they all lost their memories, and they thought Giles was his father. He grinned at the memory as he opened the door, hoping dubiously that a voice would ring out to stop him.

"Er, wait, Spike." It was Giles. Spike rolled his eyes. Any old port in a storm …

"What is it, Rupert?" he drawled, spinning around wearily.

"Spike. There may … just may be a place for you on this excursion."

"So?"  
Giles frowned. "Will you come along?"

Spike shook his head. He couldn't seem too eager. The old Spike had despised the company of mortals, and at times he missed that version of himself as sharply as he missed the satisfying taste of human blood.

"You know I can't risk flying, Rupes."

"It's a charter plane, Spike. Set up by the Council. We'll have it prepped."  
"Great idea, you ponce. Tell the Council I'm coming, and they'll spring a trap. Short flight."

Giles snorted. "Believe it or not, you conceited sod, the Council doesn't care about you one way or the other. You're neutralized, toothless."  
Spike spread his fingers. "Using charm to get me on the team, eh? Well, what's in it for me?"  
"You'll be protecting Buffy, Spike, and besides, you've been collecting a lot of favors from us of late. This trip will provide you the opportunity to repay the some of your debt."

It was Spike's turn to snort. "What favors?"

Giles stabbed a finger at him. "Bags of blood. Help fighting off loan sharks. Money. A television set."

Spike threw up a hand. "The telly was used, and you weren't using it anyway. But …since you _need_ me, I'll go. Don't tell the Council. You say they don't care about me. The vampire who knocked off two of their Slayers. I'm not buying it, and I don't want them to know about me."

"Fine," Giles agreed.

"And you supply the blood."

"Fine," Giles repeated.

"And the booze."

"Also fine."

"_We_ can prep the plane," Willow said, "we'll put black paper on the windows."

Spike blinked, more than a little surprised at getting everything his way.  
Giles indicated Andrew.

"Your first job is to keep him under restraint."

Andrew protested, "But I'm _willing_ to go. You don't have to keep me tied up."  
"Nonetheless …" Giles replied, and let it go at that.

"I'll go along, then," Spike said ruefully, "just to keep this nancy under ropes."

"You'll like Alaska this time of year," Willow smiled. In explanation she continued, "Where we're going, it's going to be dark a lot. Thirty days of night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The van Giles had rented had little lace curtains with floral print at the windows. They were pretty, but worthless against the sun so Willow had duct-taped black construction paper over the rear portals, with Xander's sarcastic help. She repeatedly had to rebuff his suggestions that they sabotage the paper with holes, even small ones, to teach Spike a lesson. Willow wound up more aggravated than if she had to do the whole thing herself.

The plane had eight round windows in the cabin, and by the time the two were finished taping more black paper over them the van roared up with the rest of the gang.

"Whoa, is this luxurious!" Buffy enthused, dropping into one of the massive leather seats and kicking her feet playfully. "Such leg room."

"This isn't luxury," Spike sniffed, toeing the carpet on the narrow cabin floor. "A little on the mean side, eh Giles? Is the Council low on funds or something?"

"This is perfectly adequate," Giles retorted.

"We can make it _look_ bigger," Xander teased, leaning across a seat to grip the edge of the window cover. "With some nice _sunlight _thisplace can instantly seem more spacious."

Spike ignored him.

"Knock it off, Buster," Willow ordered, slapping him lightly on the stomach.

"I've seen those Council suits do much better for _themselves_, "Spike went on. "They travel in big fat airbuses. Only the best for them."

Giles moved purposefully to the galley nook and opened a cabinet. He withdrew a box full of miniature bottles of various liquors and presented it to Spike.

"As agreed upon," he said.  
Spike took the box gleefully and favored Giles with an approving look. "You're not so bad sometimes, Rupert." He pointed to Andrew where he sat and barked, "Stay!" then strode down the aisle to the last seat, where he plunked down and commenced twisting the cap off one of the bottles.

"Anything to shut him up," Giles mumbled to the others, and Xander favored him with an approving look.

Outside, a motorized cart taxiing their pilot pulled up.

"What'd you tell the pilot?" Buffy asked, playing with her chair's controls.

"The Council's used him before," Giles said, "so he's discreet."  
"But," he continued, rising, "I do wish to go over our flight plan with him."

Buffy watched him go. She looked across at Xander. "Hey, this is the first plane trip you and Anya have taken together."

"It's the first _trip _we've had together," Anya said from behind Buffy. "Cold climate equals sweet togetherness. Sharing body heat to stay alive. Romantic."

She slipped a stockinged foot across to Xander's chair. He took it in his hands and laughed. "Not like we're hitting the North Pole, Ahn. We're staying in a hotel, not igloos."

Anya teased with her toes, wiggling them until the joint on the big toe loudly cracked.

"By all means," Xander said, lifting her foot as though it were offal, "get this … hairy-toed monster off my seat."  
Anya frowned petulantly. She pushed her foot farther onto his chair. "You don't like it? Get out a razor and shave, you goose."  
"What am I, a veterinary barber?"

Her eyes flashed. "No," she sneered, "but since you're such a _loser, _maybeyou could just _lose_ the hair for me."

"Well if I'm a loser, get your hoof off me and try a blacksmith."

"Ow!" he cried, as Anya assaulted him very personally. He gripped her foot and dumped it off his seat.

"You're a jerk," she told him.  
Xander nodded. "That makes sense. Kick me and then _you_ get mad. And so it starts."

"Yeah?" Her lips were tight. "And that mile-high club you mentioned? Hit yourself in the head with it."

Buffy let her head fall over in just-dead fashion and asked, "Are you two going to go at it all the way there?"

Xander peered sideways at Anya. "Nah, not all the way. Just until she tests the parachutes. And they're made of barf bags."

Anya snapped her fingers in front of his nose. "So's your breath. You better hope I never get my old powers back again, boychick."

"Why?" he challenged. "What do you think you'll do?"

"Let's just say _parts _of you would inform the rest. Oh, and I think I do want to join that club after all. I wonder if Spike's busy." She hopped from her seat and headed toward the rear of the plane.

"Not funny, Anya," Xander said gravely. "She's not funny," he told Buffy.

Giles returned from the cockpit and sank into the seat between Buffy and Andrew.

"The trip will take just under five hours," he announced.

Xander shrugged. "Great. Maybe she'll de-bitch by then."  
"Are you and Anya fighting again?" Giles asked, irritation tinging his patrician tone.

"Just the usual," Buffy informed him. "Xander noted her hairy toes."

Giles winced and removed his glasses, shaking his head.

"Don't say it, " Xander headed him off, "I know. Don't insult the fiancé."  
Giles nodded. American youth bewildered him with their tendencies, and he said so.

"I guess we're all losers, America's doomed, and I especially am an idiot," Xander singsonged.  
Buffy tapped his knee. "Giles wasn't saying that, Xander –"

Giles smiled dourly. Buffy eyed him. "Were you?"

Giles inclined his head noncommittally.

"Five hours," Buffy repeated. She reached down and hauled her backpack up from under the

seat. Unzipping it, she withdrew a paperback book that was fairly well destroyed, with its cover and pages bent askew and flared out like a paper blossom. "Jim Butcher," she said, "take me away."

Giles peered into the mess of the pages. "More of that wizard detective?"

Buffy nodded. "I'm picking up some great tips on fighting the supernatural."  
"Remember, that's fiction."  
"Giles, my whole life seems like fiction."

"Mmm? That's a metaphysical way of looking at things."

"Could be," Buffy agreed. "I never metaphysical I didn't like."

Not bothering to see how Giles took the awful pun, she opened the novel to the last dog-eared page and started reading.

Giles said, "Before you immerse yourself in that preposterous nonsense, tell me - how did Dawn handle being left behind?"  
"Screamed and cried. The whole 'Dawn' revue. At least she was happy to have Tara staying with her."

"Well, with luck, we'll be back before too long."

Buffy waved her hand around. "At least we don't have to wait for a return flight."

Giles nodded. He levered is seat back, closed his eyes, and awaited the always discomfiting takeoff. He disliked the change in air pressure, with its accompanying ear pops. And the lurching of the plane in flight, any turbulence at all, usually made his stomach queasy. He placed his mind on the mission. The dust witch they sought lived out in nowheresville, with no address but only coordinates. It might be necessary to hire a guide to help them find the right place, but Giles suspected that a good cover story could get the local postman to supply them with directions.

Sure, that was out of the question in the lower forty-eights. But Alaska was another country almost. It certainly required a pioneering spirit to abide in such remote and inhospitable surroundings. Anyone who could withstand thirty days of night would be made of stern stuff. If Giles could project the right sort of personality, the townspeople might be willing if not eager to help.

Dark for a month, he mused. Spike could frolic like a puppy, free of the worry that a sunrise would fry him to cinders.

He idly wondered why vampires did not take advantage of the extreme climates near the poles. They would of course need a blood supply, but were towns up there, and they were extremely isolated. He played with the idea of bringing it up to the Council, then the muted rumble of the warming engines lulled him to sleep.

Five hours later Buffy shook him awake, and he blinked uncomprehending as she told him they were landing.

"We're here," Buffy repeated. "Will Rogers Airport."

Giles felt awful. His stomach was churning, and nausea filled his senses. He had missed the discomfort of the flight, but the negative effects appeared to have built up within him.

"Wiley Post," he corrected. "It's 'Wiley Post-Will Rogers airport,' and –" He looked at his watch, but the time failed to sink into his brain. "What time is it?" he asked.

Buffy grasped his wrist. "Six-twenty-three Sunnydale time," she said, "but what time it is here, I dunno."

Giles unbuckled his seatbelt and lurched upwards. "I'll be right back." He walked down the length of the plane to the restroom, no stewardess to chunder at him for rising during the landing. He passed the last seat, where Spike grinned tipsily and hoisted a miniature bottle in toast.

"Really fine flight, Rupes old boy. I'm _glad _you talked me into coming with."

Giles nodded, resisting the insistent push on his insides. Luckily the lavatory was unoccupied, and he hastened in and avoided evacuating into his slacks.

An imperative knock made him start. "Help me, I have to get in," Andrew called. "Oh please, whoever's in there, get out because I'm gonna lose it."  
His knocking increased in force, and Giles feared the door might pop open. He leaned forward and pushed against it with his fingers.

"Do go away," he cried.

"Mr. Giles, is that you?" Andrew pounded as though his knuckles held no nerves. "I'm gonna be whistling beef in a second, I swear. I really need to get in there. Are you doing number one or number two?"

Giles grimaced in disgust. Angrily he raised his voice. "Back off!"  
Andrew recoiled. "Oh no, I've embarrassed the G-man. Sorry, Mr. Giles, I think we have the same case of Trotsky, huh? Huh, Giles?"

He knocked some more. "Is there enough toilet paper in there, Mr. Giles?"  
Spike leaned toward him. "Listen, runt, whyn't you let him be and go siddown? The old boy's British, so 'e's already embarrassed by any biological urges. So, piss off."  
"Do we have any air freshener?" Andrew persisted. Spike started to rise, and Andrew fled back up the aisle.

He plopped into his seat and held his abdomen. "One bathroom," he complained to Buffy. "Who designed this plane?"  
Buffy threw a hand to her face. "Then it was you all this time? Aw, gross. Andrew, you're a pig." She shot to her feet and headed toward the cockpit.

Xander and Anya, reconciled from their tiff, sat together on one seat. "Where's she going?" Xander tipped his head toward Buffy.

Andrew suppressed a grin. "She wants to get outside so she can let out some really heinous gas. Apparently she's been tooting for the last hour."

Yeah?" Xander grinned. "I wondered who that was. Tough to have that condition in an enclosed tube like this."  
Andrew shrugged, and the action caused an audible slip of his own. "Oh well," he said quickly, but not fast enough.

"You grossburger," Xander growled. "You do that again, I'll toss you out the emergency door."

"Dang, guy," Andrew simpered, "it's not _my _fault. Giles's bogarting the only toilet."  
Xander rose, and Anya got up with him. They looked to Buffy, who came from the cockpit. "Pilot says a ground crew's supposed to come with some stairs."

Xander glared at Andrew. "I'd be willing to jump to the ground."

"Better get our jackets on," Buffy suggested.

"It's so weird that we're going to be in snow." Willow yawned and capped it with the back of her sleeve. "Go to sleep in California, wake up at the top of the world. I'll be right back."

Buffy stopped her. "If you have to go to the bathroom, wait for the terminal."  
In reply to her questioning look, Andrew volunteered, "Yeah. Mr. Giles is having an assquake right now."

Xander hovered over him. "Shut up about Giles."

"Hey, I didn't mean anything. We all get the Hershey squirts every now and then."

"I told you to shut up."

But Andrew was on a roll. "Come on, Giles' chocolate soldiers are acing the obstacle course."  
Xander tapped angrily on the top of Andrew's blond head. "Not – another – word!"

"Ow!" Andrew exclaimed, and covered up. "Free speech, man."

"And don't be floating any more air biscuits, either," Xander cautioned him.

Buffy sighed "Now you're starting?"

"I'm _starting_ to get claustrophobic," Xander groused. "Let me out of here, already."  
An eternity passed before the pilot came back and unlocked the door. The crewman outside got the stairwell in place, and opened up, letting in a rush of crystal clean, chilled air that flowed into the warm cabin where the gang gulped it in gratefully.

Giles trudged up the aisle, his face pale.

"Is it free?" Andrew asked unnecessarily. Giles hooked a thumb back over his shoulder, and Andrew got up and hurried back.

"Wait for Andrew, Spike," Giles ordered. Spike nodded and grumbled about the unctuous task. Then they debarked. The terminal was close, and in short order they were gathered inside.

Giles went to the Hertz counter to get the keys to the SUV the Council had reserved. The others filed into the crowded Top Of The World Café, where a fleshy waitress glared but otherwise ignored them.

Spike threw a bonhomous arm over Giles' shoulders. "The baby's finished with his leave-a-penny, old boy."

Giles shrugged him off. " That's terrific."  
Spike leaned back and studied the Englishman's face. "You're lookin' almighty pale, friend. "We need to get you summat to eat.

"Later, Spike," Giles replied. "Right now, I have to get our rental." He pocketed the keys and started for the outer door.

Spike looped his arm and steered him toward the cafe. "Sustenance first, mate. I need something to absorb all those tiny li'l bottles."

Giles let himself be steered. The crowd in the café was so dense they could barely thread their way to the others.

"Watch it," a man snarled at Giles.

Xander waved at Giles. "Twenty minutes' wait for a table," he said.

Giles shook his head. "We don't have time for this."

Buffy agreed. "Did we bring any food?"  
Giles shook his head. "There will be plenty at the hotel." He waved a sickly hand and looked at the Slayer pleadingly.

Buffy decided for them. "We're leaving," she told the others. "We can get all the food we want later."

"Yes," Giles nodded gratefully.

"I'm really hungry _now_," Andrew protested.

Giles' hand tightened to a fist.

Spike slapped the back of Andrew's head. "You heard the leader."

Andrew seethed in protest, but the group pushed and shoved him along until they were outside. Giles thumbed a button on the key alarm and their SUV chirruped. They got to it and streamed in.

"The windows aren't covered," Spike observed.

Willow withdrew a hand from the pocket of her parka. "Duct tape! And I brought paper."

"I thought it's dark for a month," Buffy said.

"Yeah," Willow said, "but I don't know when that starts."  
"You don't?" Spike cried. "Why the bloody hell not?"  
Andrew said, "It starts tomorrow. I saw a flyer."  
"Like I'm going to believe you."  
"Whatever."

"Look," Giles said chidingly. "It's dark enough right now, so let's set it aside. Please."

Xander sat sideways across the rear bench seat, his head pressed against the low ceiling.

"They make cars differently up here?" he asked. "I'm not diggin' the head room."

"No leg room either," Anya complained, shifting in irritation.

"What the hell are we doing in Alaska again?"


	2. WTS?

Spike dozed in the back of the SUV while Giles drove to the Ikos Diner in Barrow. He had solved the problem of low overhead by just laying down and letting the alcohol he had sucked down put him in dreamland.

There were a few people in the diner, bundled up for bad weather and consuming plates of aromatic food and cups of java whose aroma teased Giles' senses.

"I'm so glad," Andrew blurted, "'cause I gotta go again."

"For Pete's sake," Willow snapped, uncharacteristically exasperated, "can't you keep that to yourself? I mean, whatta we need to know for?"  
"No offense," Andrew replied.

Willow scoffed, "But there is offense – _I'm _offended."

"Okay. Now I know."

"Normal people are _born _knowing!"

Giles said, "Willow –"

"No, Giles, I don't get why Andrew is like he is – not just how disgusting he is. Well yes, he's so disgusting in so many ways. He calls up demons. He hangs out with those other nerds, causing trouble."

Buffy gently but purposefully took Willow's arm and led her to an open table.

She continued her diatribe against Andrew, and Buffy nodded obligingly.

"Wil," she finally broke in, "we're causing a scene."

"Oh no," Willow answered sarcastically. "I certainly don't want to cause a scene." As it registered on her that that was really the truth, she apologized. "No, we don't want a scene, do we – because – of what we're doing here."

Buffy cut her off with a slash hand.

Anya and Giles joined them at the table..

A dark-haired, tired-looking woman gave them menus. She told them her name was Lucy, and unenthusiastically informed them she was their waitress. Giles ordered coffee, Willow Coke, and Buffy and Anya settled for water.

After Lucy left, a man in a parka swept into the door, a cold blast of air coming in with him.

"Y'know, I think I will have coffee," Buffy decided. "It smells so good."

Willow said, "Should have ordered it before, Buff. Looks like Lucy's on her own tonight."

Lucy stood before the parka guy taking his order.

"Well, I'll help her out, then" Buffy decided. She stood and moved to the counter next to the parka man.

"No whiskey?" the man said angrily, his voice a nasal twang of rebuke. "No rum?"

"Alcohol's illegal this month," Lucy replied levelly. "Folks have a hard enough time in the dark without booze making it worse."

Buffy raised her hand to get Lucy's attention, but her eyes were fixed on the newcomer, who then ordered a bowl of raw hamburger. She peered at what she could see of the man's face, which was unshaven and really gross. There was a redness in his eye, but also a darkness. Buffy felt uneasy next to him, and, trusting her radar, loosened up for possible violence.

Lucy's lips pressed whitely; she was losing patience. "You can only get meat two ways around here, frozen or burnt."

The man snatched her wrist and pulled her toward him.

"You don't bring me what I wanna eat," he hissed, "what I wanna –"

Buffy reached abruptly and gripped the man's wrist. She applied pressure with her middle knuckles. He cried out in pain and surprise, his fingers splayed out like dirty claws.

"Stay polite," Buffy gritted, "or mommy will spank."

The gross man thrust himself back from the bar and jumped to his feet. Buffy tightened her grip to a point she knew would send shockwaves of pain up the man's arm. He should have bent double. Instead, he fisted his other hand. His muscles bunched up, and she knew a punch was coming.  
"Hold it!" At the door a man in a brown sheriff's uniform appeared. Giles was next to Buffy. Xander and Andrew rounded the corner from the restroom, and a blonde woman was close on their heels.

The gross man swung to face the sheriff. He snatched his arm away from Buffy, who took a step back. The local cop could take care of this obnoxious vagrant, she figured. Giles touched her elbow, and she walked back to the table with him. She would not get her coffee after all, she thought, no java jolt to shake the blahs. Well, maybe a cup to go.

The sheriff said something to the man, who commenced shaking as though gripped by palsy. The blonde woman Buffy had seen drew an automatic pistol from under her jacket and put it against the vagrant's skull.

"Wow, look at that," Xander said, dropping into his chair. "Pretty exciting stuff for a small town."

"Indeed," Giles agreed, then told them all not to get involved in any trouble. "Buffy," he continued, "you could have been embroiled in a fight involving police."  
"But Giles –"

"I saw you were helping the woman – er, Lucy. But it's best that we don't press things while we're here."

"Sure. Whatever you want, master." Giles frowned at the sarcasm, but accepted that Buffy understood the message.

In a few minutes they got their food, and Lucy agreed to bring Buffy coffee without complaint. "Thanks, hon, for helping me with that creep."

"You're welcome," Buffy replied.

Giles spoke up. "Was that man someone you have seen before?"

Lucy shook her head vigorously. The slack flesh on her neck quivered. "Never seen him. And I hope never to, again."

"Amen," Xander offered, and they all nodded.

"I wonder if you know of a lady who lives nearby," Giles asked. "My aunt. Her name is Pettimer. Serena Pettimer?"

Again, Lucy shook her head. "She English like you?"

"No, she's a yankee," Giles answered brightly.

"Maybe Beau, over there." She nodded toward a lone man at a far table, heavy-set and bearing a thick mane of scraggly brown hair and an equally scraggly beard.

"Hey Beau!" Lucy called, and the man looked back at them for a second, before turning away. "This nice man here has a question. He's good people, help him out."

Beau lifted an uninviting arm, then set it down again.

"I'll speak with him," Giles told the group. "You all can go to the van – er, _after _visiting the facilities." He gave a stern look to Andrew.

Andrew, surprisingly, did not need to go. Xander did, but he did not require a chaperone, so they headed out to the SUV. There was a dull, sunless miasma across the sky, and the howling wind against the snowy horizon gave Buffy a creeped-out feeling. The superficially benign environment of Sunnydale was nothing like this harsh place. It was too cold, way scary and with her powers diminished she felt nakedly vulnerable. She flexed her arms as she climbed into the vehicle, her taut biceps seeming pitifully insufficient. She wondered if Giles had inadvertently brought her to her doom. Her forearms grew gooseflesh, and she rubbed them with her palms. Willow asked if she was cold, and Buffy shook her head.

Giles came out and climbed into his captain's chair.

"I spoke with that man, er - Beau Brower, his name was. He pointed me in Serena's direction."

Xander rode shotgun, happy to be able to hold his head aloft. "How far?"

"About two miles outside the town proper."

Giles hit the gas and they sped along the main street. The SUV had no chains on the tires, but they were bona fide snow tires with good traction. They passed a large, red brick house with a dimly lit sign out front, advertising a bed and breakfast.

"Look," Xander pointed, "There's a place to stay."  
Giles nodded gratefully. "Excellent. We'll return there."

In the back, Spike slumbered soundlessly. Anya reached over and stroked his earlobe.

"Bollards," he mumbled, slapping her hand away. He sat up, and hit his head on the low ceiling.

"Greetings and salutations," Andrew said wanly.

Spike peered out the window. He slumped in his seat to allow space for his head, and sighed.

"Rupes went on the cheap with the auto too, eh?"  
Buffy muttered, "All you do is complain, everywhere we go."

The vampire jockeyed forward until his face was close to hers. "So take me somewhere I want to go, Goldilocks."

Buffy's eyes shifted, but she said nothing. There was something reassuring about having Spike awake and mouthing off. It gave her a homey feeling.

"We're headed for the dust witch's place," Willow told him.  
Spike tore the black paper off the windows he could reach. "Dark enough," he muttered.

He continued, "A man could get right used to all this beautiful nighttime."

"Xander turned his head. "Feel free to stay, Spike."

"Wasn't talking to you, mate. When I do, you'll know it because I'll start by saying 'Hey, nancy-boy.'"

"I'm not your mate," Xander retorted.

"Spike showed his teeth. "You object to that, but you're fine with 'nancy-boy,' eh?"

"Shuddup, Spike." Xander faced forward.

"I think that's it," Giles pointed. The others craned their necks to see. The SUV was approaching a low-slung home that protruded shyly from the white expanse. Giles parked near the front door, and they all got out. Spike took hold of Andrew's arm and held it tightly.

"Don't even think of running," he warned.

Andrew gaped at the desolate horizon, dimly lit by the sky's reflection off the snow. "Where do you think I'd run to?"  
Giles called to Spike, who brought Andrew to the front door. "Knock," Giles ordered.

Andrew did, and after a minute the door was opened by a very petite, very aged lady with almost no hair atop her head. Her tiny size was accentuated by her posture, which was hunched over. A severe hump stood out atop her shoulder.

"So that's a dust witch," Buffy whispered to Willow.

"Serena?" Andrew said diffidently. "I'm Andrew. From Sunnydale?"

The bent old lady took a hesitant step back. She opened her mouth and bellowed with leather-lunged volume. "Wena! Some dude here asking for you."

An inaudible response floated to the old lady's ears, and she waved a withered arm. "C'mon in." She seemed to be counting them as they trooped in, then she sighed wearily and offered them some refreshment.

"No thanks," Andrew replied, "I'm good."  
Giles said, "Thank you, no."

"Not for me," Buffy told her.

Spike said, "I'll take vodka, straight up."

Giles looked back at him. "Spike!"

"We have Stoli or Popov," the old lady replied.

"Black label," Spike observed happily. "Nice. Either one will be great."

Xander said, "I think I would like some hot chocolate."

"We're out."

He shrugged. "Coffee?"  
"Out."

He forced a smile. "Well then, what _do _you have?"  
"Stoli and Popov."

He sighed. "I'm good. Thanks."

The crone led them to a large, beautifully furnished living room which was lit brightly and inexplicably by sunshine which beamed through several picture windows. Spike stepped in, recoiled, and threw his arm up over his face. He turned but, feeling no disaster from the sun's rays, dropped his arm and made a puzzled sound in his throat.

A strikingly beautiful woman rose from a lavish sofa, sweeping to her feet like a winged angel. The wings were just the gowns she was cloaked in, light and diaphanous and decorated with countless little animal tchotchkes woven in the fabric. Her hair was very dark, so dark it drew the eye and held onto it, trapped the gaze, so that one was forced to tear his vision away from the onyx tresses. She had a wide mouth, her lips tilted in a wry, knowing smile. Her gowns were layered and concealing, yet at the same time, oddly revealing of an hourglass figure that implied physical perfection.

"Vampires are safe in _this _light," she said reassuringly. "No UV rays."

Spike gaped. "How did you know?"

Serena gestured gracefully with her hand, which was delicate, her fingers long, her nails clean of polish and medium-long. "I do magic," she said simply.

Spike walked toward her as a desert-addled, thirsting man would walk toward an oasis. She waved at her furniture, and it was understood that she wished them to sit. They all chose a place and sat.

Except Buffy. She remained standing, walked to one of the windows and felt it with her palm. The intense light gave off no warmth. "Just another faker," she mused.

"We got together on the web," Andrew said.

Serena nodded. "Han Solo 1138." Xander and Willow rolled their eyes. "You wanted to destroy someone's supernatural powers."

Andrew pointed at Buffy. "Yeah, her. I botched the instructions you gave me. Something about the burning ritual, I don't know. Anyway, I just want to cancel the whole thing."  
Serena regarded Buffy coolly for a moment, a mocking smile growing on her lips as her eyes went down and up, measuring Buffy appraisingly.

"Truthfully, Andrew? This is the powerful being? I see no evidence of what you claim, nothing. You must be joking. Who was the curse for, really?"

Buffy's face was stone. She crossed her arms and said dryly, "Interesting, because as I take in _your_ Bea Arthur wardrobe, your gross pasty face and your "body by testosterone," I'm sort of unimpressed as well."

Giles stepped between the two, as though to head off a catfight. "Miss Pettimer," he said hastily, "we beg your indulgence … please."

He felt heat on his back, and sensed for an incoherent moment it was the flame of Buffy's rage that warmed him. He realized he had erred by not preparing the Slayer for this encounter, or at least having her remain outside. Her mentality naturally made her the alpha female in most groups, and of course that would pique a dust witch's tendency to … mutilate and kill her enemies.

Serena elevated her chin proudly. Giles saw scarlet on her cheeks and guessed that Buffy's words had an effect.

"Buffy," he said evenly, "we must appeal to Serena's good graces to have the curse removed."

"Andrew," he continued, "remember why you're here."

Andrew stepped forward, his eyes fastened onto Serena's face. He made a complicated hand gesture before his face and bowed deeply in supplication, falling awkwardly to his knees.

"Sorry," he said, "it was cold out there.

"Oh, princess of darkness," he chanted, "you are all which is powerful and beautiful. Please, accept my humble apology and withdraw my petition. I bring you my love, my devotion and my blood." He held out his arm and pulled back his sleeve, leaving his forearm bare.

Serena put a hand on her hip, tossed her head in amusement, and locked her eyes on Buffy. Without looking Andrew's way, she whipped her hand in an arc, and her sharp fingernails slit several runnels in his flesh. Blood immediately filled the wounds and dripped down Andrew's arm.

"Ouch!" Andrew recoiled, jerking his arm to his body protectively.

Serena flicked a finger and Andrew obediently rose and held out his arm. The others watched this in fascination, especially Spike, who eyed the warm human blood with longing. The tip of his tongue swept across his lips, then he remembered the glass in his hand. He took a gulp of vodka and let it run down his throat appreciatively.

Serena dipped her head. Her extraordinarily long tongue snaked out of her wide mouth to lap up Andrew's blood. Xander's eyes widened, and Anya clutched his hand very hard.

"Yuck," she whispered to him, but he didn't hear.

"Haven't seen a Yorker like that since Gene Simmons in KISS," Buffy cracked.

Giles winced and turned abruptly to her, his finger at his lips.

Serena laughed. "Insolent one, you may mock me. You have no idea what really happens when I take someone's blood. For all you know, I own your soul now, and will torment you for eternity."

"I have enough friends."

Serena ignored her and beckoned to Spike. He set his glass on a table and he walked slowly, as if in a trance, stopping close to her.

"You brought me quite a handsome vampire."

She touched his shirt. Her fingers caressed the red fabric, as though testing its texture. Like lightning she whipped her hand away, and the shirt disappeared, leaving Spike's upper torso naked.

"Mmm," Serena moued, "not too hard on the eyes."

Giles, nonplused, could only watch with his mouth slightly agape. This act of unexpected prestidigitation bewildered him. He could only assume the dust witch was engaging in a sort of power play, perhaps testing them. He looked to Andrew, who gave one of his innumerable shrugs. Giles looked at the floor.

Serena's ran her fingers slowly down the contours of Spike's body. As Buffy watched, it seemed to her the bastard started flexing his abdominal muscles, because the striations, already impressive, deepened to asymmetric cubes. She expressed an annoyed breath, and Serena looked at her.

"So he was yours. Now I take him."

Buffy made a choking sound, trying to respond. "As _if_. He's nothing to me. Keep him if you want, he's a pest. A loser."

"Buffy," Giles tried.

"I will," Serena said triumphantly. "The vampire stays with me."

Xander grinned, and almost whooped. He tried to raise his fist to accompany the whoop, but Anya, the stronger of the two, kept his hand clamped in hers.

Andrew shook his head desperately. "O great one," he shot off rapidly, "you are all-powerful and the greatest –"

"Boring," she said, and waved the hand that wasn't getting just too happy on Spike's muscled bod. "I'll lift the curse. You may all go now."

"But," Andrew persisted, "we need the blonde one, we cannot _leave_ him, please Mistress."

"You do need him," Serena said assuredly, her lips stretched apart to reveal large, even white teeth. "You need him, but I _want _him." She stepped to Buffy and stood defiantly with her arms akimbo, daring her.

"You may _try_ to take him back, if you like."

Countless hours working with Buffy, putting her through martial arts drills and torturous exercises designed to inflict a maximum of pain and develop a maximum of ability, had endowed Giles with an intimate familiarity of Buffy's strengths, weaknesses, and tendencies. He could almost feel her bunch her leg muscles, readying herself for a snap-kick.

He threw his arms around her and stepped backward. Taken by surprise, she bucked in his grip, kicked off the floor, and nearly knocked him off his feet. Giles wondered desperately why the other fools were not helping him. Buffy reached back and gripped a handful of his hair.

"No Buffy – it's _Spike. _You _hate _him!"

Her muscles went slack, and Giles exhaled in relief.

"That's right," she smiled, shaking out her arms. "I'm glad to be rid of him. I guess I got upset at the attitude. I'm good now. No problem."

Serena's smile was unflagging. She pushed Spike in front of her and he relented, moving like a zombie. She kissed his neck tenderly, lovingly. Then she put her chin on his shoulder and directed a sneering, mocking smile at Buffy.

Giles laid a calming hand on Buffy's arm, and she let him lead her to the door, where the old crone was waiting to show them out. Buffy tossed a look back at Spike. His expression was neutral, impassive. There was no light of consciousness in his eyes.

"Aw, Spike." Andrew wiped a hand across his eyes as he regarded him one last time. "I'm sorry, buddy."  
Outside, the wind was whipping up a storm, and they hunched over against the bite of it until they were in the SUV.

Giles fired up the engine, and they headed back to town.

"I'm sorry, everyone. I should have prepared you for the meeting."

"Well, have you ever met a dust witch before?" Willow thrust her head up between Buffy and Giles.

"No, never before," Giles replied.

"Then how could you have prepared us?" She withdrew her head and turned on Andrew. "This idiot is the one who dealt with her before. You should have told us what to expect, you sonofabitch."

"Damn straight," Xander agreed.

Andrew's cheeks turned scarlet. "I didn't know her really," he whined. "Except on the web.

What, was I supposed to warn you that she overused her semicolons?"

Xander leaned forward. "Why not? You overuse your _colon._" He burst into laughter, pleased at the quip. At Anya's stony silence he said "What? You mad that Spike got left with Dusty?"

Anya said, "Giles, are we really leaving him for good?"

Giles said without turning, "I'm not certain right now what course we'll take. Except to get out of this storm."  
Anya nodded and turned to Xander. "I don't think any one of us should be left as a sacrifice to a dust witch. Those people are really hard on their men."

Buffy turned. "You mean you know about dust witches?"

"A little. Enough to know we shouldn't leave Spike with her."

The town loomed in front of them. "We'll check in at the bed and breakfast," Giles announced. "Then we'll discuss our next move."

The O'Mally Bed & Breakfast was a long, dark little establishment two storeys high, and they brought in their suitcases in hope there were enough rooms. Not many vacationers ventured to the area during its thirty day night. To the contrary, the population of the town had winnowed to a mere 152, according to a sign at the edge of town.

Mr. O'Mally was a florid man in a checked flannel shirt. He resembled a lumberjack, the one on packages of Bounty paper towels. He announced that there were five rooms available to rent, at a daily rate of two hundred dollars apiece.

When Giles told him they only needed three, O'Mally glared as though he had just expressed his intention to run over O'Mally's mother with a tank.

"Two-fifty with meals," he added. "And that's worth it. You seen them grocery prices? Through the roof."

With restaurant dining in mind, Giles said, "Without meals will be fine."  
Another accusatory glare from O'Mally, then he read the rules in a stern voice. "No cooking in the rooms, no parties of more than five people, no pets, no damage allowed, no loud music, no jumping off the balcony into the pool –"

"Y-you have a pool?" Giles asked, surprised.

O'Mally's eyes narrowed, his expression suggesting he was dealing with an imbecile. "It's frozen over. What're ya gonna do, go ice swimming? Hey Lana," he called into a hallway, "got a guy wants to go swimming."

"Pool's frozen over," a matronly voice replied.

O'Mally nodded affirmation and repeated, "Sorry, pool's frozen over."

O'Mally handed over three keys. When Giles handed him a key Xander took a look at the two remaining ones and did some fast calculating. "Mister Giles," he said, "_why _am I holding one of only three keys? Because me and Anya are going to be taking up this room, and that leaves only _two _rooms for you, Buffy, Wil and _Andrew."_

Giles took a weary breath.

"Here it comes," Xander said quickly.

"The girls go to one room – Anya, Buffy and Willow."

Xander blinked several times. "Then two more rooms for three guys –" he pointed his finger to the respective persons. "Giles, which is _you, _Xander, yours truly, and …" his finger described corkscrew twists in the air. "_Andrew!_"

Giles said, "The Council does not pay for frivolous expenses –"

"Hey, the Council is loaded, "Xander argued. "You heard what Spike said. I want a room with a human, not Andrew."

Anya leaned toward him. "But Andrew is human."

"This'll be fun," Willow said, "like a sleepover."

"Then I demand," Xander said demandingly, a hint of whiny desperation climbing his tone up the scale, "I demand an ex-demon roommate, who if I see naked won't make me blow the cheap food you bought me all over the cheap shoes my parents bought me."

Giles shook his head. "We do what we have to. I brought Spike to watch Andrew, and he's gone."

"We have to get him back!" Xander's jaw was set firm with angry determination. "Get Andrew to bleed some more, whatever it takes, but he's one of us and we can't leave him behind."  
Giles rolled his head on his shoulders and his neck cracked audibly. Bags were forming under his eyes. "Let's get our things put away, and then we'll figure out what to do."

Xander gazed pleadingly. "Take Andrew."

Giles shook his head. "Next time."

"But there won't be a next time.

"Er … precisely."

Xander dumped his suitcase on the twin bed in his and Andrew's room. "If you bust ass even once," he warned the smaller man, "I'll kick …"

"My ass?"

"I'll break your neck, he corrected, wanting to steer clear of Andrew's ass. He dropped onto the bed, testing its bounce, and he had to admit to himself, he was very satisfied indeed. Twisting around, he swept his things off the bed with his arm, then jumped his whole body onto the bed. He sighed with relaxation. "At least the bed's comfortable."

He noticed that his insides were not so comfortable. The burger he had eaten was not sitting well in his gut. He considered a visit to the bathroom, but this not being a real hotel, that was down the hall, so he just lay there.

The gas bubbled in his guts and gave him mucho discomfort. He recalled the hell Andrew had unleashed on the plane, and figured this was just payback. He forced the gas from its abdominal pocket, its extrusion accompanied by the customary cacophony.

"Augh – dude!" Andrew covered his nose.

Xander defensively pointed out the justice of the arrangement, and forced a sequel.

Andrew rushed to the window and unlocked it. He hauled it up and stuck his head out. Then he hauled it back in.

"C'mere and look, dude," he said urgently.

Xander began to heave himself up. A loudspeaker was being used outside, and he heard it. "…Stay in your homes, lock your doors … and load your firearms." Xander shot to his feet.

"…This is not a drill."

The last line made the small hairs at the base of Xander's neck rise, and he felt the chill from the window, and it was an unpleasant shock. He looked out, seeing a police cruiser going up the street with gumball lights ablaze. Andrew rubbed the back of his neck.

Andrew said, "Scares you too?"

Xander swatted at the hand. Then a flash of movement on the street drew his immediate attention. There was someone – or something – chasing the cop. It was a dark figure that bounded impossibly fast along the snow-clad street. It halted for an instant and peered around with black, inhuman eyes. Red claret stains covered the bottom of the creature's face.

It sped away, wraithlike.

Xander shuddered violently and slammed the window down. He turned to Andrew, poking a quavering finger at the scene below.

"What the shit is that?"


	3. WTF?

The girls' room had one window, and it faced the building next door.

"Boring view," Anya remarked, then she further observed that there were only two beds.

"What's this?" she pointed. "Who's sleeping in the double bed with me?"

"What's the diff?" Buffy asked, sitting on the single and bouncing up and down.

"The difference? No offense to Willow, but …"

"Yes?" Willow stopped fussing with her suitcase and met Anya's gaze.

Anya waved her hands expressively. "Might be, you know … problems?"

Willow removed a blouse and unfolded then refolded it. "Why a problem?"

"Temptation," Anya finished, frustrated she had to go so far.

Willow smirked.

"If you can't keep your hands off Willow," Buffy said from her bed, "you can sleep with me.

Criminy, Anya," she went on, cutting off the erstwhile demon's retort, "you really want to stay a social misfit your whole life, dontcha?"

Willow said, "I think Buffster can share the big bed with me. Not that I wouldn't be tempted, but …"

"That takes care of the sleeping assignments," Buffy summed up. "I see why Giles got his own room. This conversation might've been awkward with the other boys."

"Well excuse me," Anya huffed. "Just trying to solve a problem."

Buffy clapped sarcastically. "You're doing a great job."

Then she stripped off her top and unhooked her bra. "Now, if you can resist the sight of my boobies, Wil, I think I'll go down the hall for a shower."

Willow made claw hands. "You're stirring my blood, Buffy. Maybe while you're gone I'll go crazy and grab Anya."

"You are both making this awkward," Anya snapped

The door flung open abruptly and Xander came in. He stopped and gaped at the topless Buffy.

"No, _this _ is awkward," Willow said.

Buffy snatched up her top and covered up. She protested angrily but Xander cut her off.

"Something's up out there! Death, killers, _plagues of Hades_ and we gotta do something. Batten the hatches. Teotwawki's here."

"Not Teotwawki!" Anya exclaimed.

"Yes," Xander nodded.

Buffy turned around and donned her sweater hastily. She swung back to Xander. "Show us."

As he led them down the hall Buffy hissed, "What's Teotwawki?"

Willow replied, "'The end of the world as we know it.'"

"Oh," Buffy nodded. "Teotwawki."

Andrew shivered by the window. He moved aside for Buffy and she peeked through the curtain.

"I didn't see any more," Andrew said, "but I'm getting a really bad feeling about this."

"What'd you guys see?" Buffy swept the curtain aside, and the guys winced and recoiled.

Buffy crossed her arms and let her expression register great annoyance.

"We saw something outside," Xander said. "Maybe a demon – I don't know. It was dark,

and … fast. Very very fast. Like nothing I've seen. And blood – lotsa blood on its face."

Buffy took off for Giles' room. The others followed.

Andrew remained at the window. Below, two people ran from a house. A man carried a weapon – a rifle, or shotgun maybe, held across his body. He and a woman hurried toward their neighbor's house, mounted the stoop and banged on the door. It opened and they ran inside. The door slammed behind them.

"Well, _they're_ ready," Andrew muttered. He ran from the room after the rest of the gang, with the hairs on the back of his head rising as though electrified.

Andrew stopped at Giles' open door. The watcher's suitcase lay open on the bed, and he passed out weapons from it. Xander got a wrist crossbow, Anya a hatchet, and Buffy took a scary knife that looked Klingon, with little bells and whistles for extra cutting.

"How 'bout me?" Andrew asked.

Giles took out a wooden stake and tossed it to him, then he picked up a full-sized crossbow for himself.

Andrew brandished the wood. "What can I do with this?"

"Probably nothing," Xander cracked. "That's why it's all you get."

Giles walked past Andrew and headed for the stairs. "If the sheriff is bidding the townspeople to take to their weapons, there must be good reason. Let's see what weapons our hosts have."

The gang followed. Buffy tucked Giles' knife into her belt, and pulled a wooden stake from her pocket. "Hello, Mister Pointy," she grinned humorlessly. "I'm so glad I brought you for this peaceful, relaxing trip."

Glass shattered downstairs, and they increased their speed.

Giles hit the landing and barked, "Wait!"

"What!"

"We must work together." He hefted the crossbow. "We don't even know if you have your powers back yet," he told Buffy.

A shrill scream rang out nearby. Giles sped to the kitchen with the others close behind.

"Where are you?" he called.

"Help." The voice was O'Mally's.

They barged into the sizeable kitchen and saw O'Mally leaning out a shattered window, hopping with agitated helplessness.

"What happened?"

O'Mally spun to Giles and sputtered something about his wife being taken. He pointed. "Out there, it took her out there. Can you help me get her?"  
"I'll go," Buffy declared, going for the window.

Giles put an arm across her. "Buffy wait. We need to work together." To O'Mally he said, "You have any weapons? Guns, preferably."

"But my wife," O'Mally whined, his hands quivering with angst.

Giles stood unmoved, and O'Mally sighed. He pointed to a closet. "Okay, in there."

Xander pulled it open and grabbed out a shotgun. "What is this?" he demanded, looking it over for clues.

Giles took it from him. "Double-barreled shotgun." He thumbed a catch and broke the barrel open to reveal empty breeches. "Ammo?" he said to O'Mally.

Xander pushed past them to get to the window. "Gotta block this up," he said.

"I'll get it," O'Mally answered Giles.

Willow was at the fridge. "How about this?" she asked Xander. He nodded and grabbed it. Together they dragged the refrigerator over to the broken window.

O'Mally got a clear zip-lock bag from a shelf in the closet. It contained many shotgun shells. Giles nodded approvingly and took it. He got out two and loaded the shotgun.

"Take it, Xander." He handed it over with the shells. "Don't lose them."

Andrew pushed the dinette table behind the fridge to bolster the barricade. "What about the other windows?"

"What about my wife?" O'Mally said.

Gunfire erupted outside, somewhere down the street.

"We have to get out there and help these people," Buffy said. "And O'Mally's wife," she added.

Giles shook his head dubiously.

"Come on, we have the experience." Buffy's jaw muscles clenched with determination. She moved to the outside door.

A dark being crashed through the window. It leaped toward Anya, who dropped onto her face and rolled. Missing its initial quarry, the predator reset itself to launch toward Willow.

"WTF is that?" Andrew shrieked.

Buffy flung herself onto the thing. She caught its head in the crook of her arm, twisting in midair. A tremendous _crack_ sounded as the creature's neck broke. The thing shrieked horribly and bucked her off. Twisted and damaged, it managed to skitter across the floor towards Willow.

"_Torsus proheltes!_" Willow shouted, scrambling backward, and the creature slid back along the floor, caroming sharply off the wall.

Buffy leapt on it again. She jerked the Klingon knife from her belt and buried it in the thing's side. The strident peals from its throat took on a deeper timbre, and there was an answering howl from outside.

Giles hovered over the two combatants with his crossbow leveled, looking for a shot. He cried out to his Slayer incoherently.

Buffy got her knees in position and thrust down while her arms encircled the creature's shoulders.

Its spine broke with a huge snap. The thing's voice trailed off, and it spasmed.

"Take off the head," Giles urged.

Buffy hauled back with the Klingon knife and swathed it in a vicious arc. The thing's hideous head rolled away and disappeared under the dinette table.

Xander shuddered violently. So did Andrew, who jumped up onto the counter, lifting his feet up like a housewife scared of mice.

Willow said, "Not your regular vampire, huh?"

"May-maybe they're zombies," Xander quavered. He held the shotgun at the ready and locked his eyes on the exposed kitchen windows.

"At least your powers seem restored," Giles commented to Buffy.

"My wife?" O'Mally asked.

A lupine cry rang out, sounding very close. Xander set down the shotgun and grabbed a china cabinet. "Let's cover the windows," he blurted.

The others looked at Giles. He set down his crossbow and nodded. "Yes, we'd better."

They all grabbed furniture with both hands.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All the mystery was gone from Serena, Spike realized, along with any more interest he had in the dust witch. He lay next to her in her nicely large bed, soft and silky, comfortable and warm. He took pleasure in knowing that stupid Giles and company were shivering out in the cold, where they belonged.

There was every likelihood they would stick around for one night, if only to make sure Buffy's powers no longer were blunted by that idiot Andrew's internet curse, courtesy of Serena.

He stifled a sigh, wondering if he should pretend to be asleep. But he sensed her wakefulness, chalking it up to a mix of understandable awe and contentment.

"Got a cigarette, love?"

"No." He could feel Serena's eyes on him, disapproving. "I don't allow smoking in my bed."

Spike put one foot atop the other and laced his fingers behind his head. "Should've warned me sooner, then."

He sensed this woman was all set to commence boring him.

"What now?" he said, deciding to push the inevitable result and be on his way.

"Now? Now, you stay with me here forever. I want a man. For health, for protection and … she ran a sharp fingernail down Spike's naked torso. The sensation was unpleasant.

"Can't do it, luv."

"Why not." Serena's voice was hard, no tone of question in it.

He drew in breath so he could sigh, then lied. "Look I'd love to, but the others won't let me stay here. They'll be back, rooting around, demanding my return. Can't get along without the brains of the operation … and the charm … and muscle. They have powers, believe me. I have to go, to keep you safe."  
She put a cold arm around him. Spike repressed an urge to throw it off. "We shall not be vexed by them again," she whispered. "I've already taken steps to keep them away forever."

Spike picked up her arm and removed it from him. He got up and gathered his clothes, delivering an ad-libbed kiss-off speech about two ships in the night, blah blah. She lay quietly, but then what else could she do?

"What can we do?" he said rhetorically. "We're too different to last. You're a right nice bird and all, but I have other plans."

Heading for the front door he was accosted by the stooped old hag. He thought she was trying something funny when she reached for him with a gnarled claw, and he snatched her arm.

"I'm just giving you the keys to the truck," she explained defensively.

"What?"  
"The truck. In the garage. You're to take that into town. To see your friends."

Spike shrugged. He plucked the keys from her hand and twirled them on his finger. "I told her I'm not coming back," he told the crone. "I'm certainly not returning this truck."

The hag managed a shrug of her own, not easy with her hump. "Leave it where you wish."

"Marvy." Spike asked where the garage access was, and the old woman led him through the kitchen. "A vodka for the road?" she offered kindly.

He saw the Stoli bottle on the sink counter, only a little used. "No thank you," he replied. "Don't wish to trouble you." He picked up the bottle and tucked it into his jacket pocket. It was the least he could do, limit the tired hag's labors and pour his own cocktails.

The garage was pretty massive. There were four sturdy vehicles, and the truck chirruped when he thumbed the button on the electronic key fob. He started the engine while the crone opened the garage door, waved at her and gunned forward through the snow. He could feel the tires bite deep and sure into the slick road, taking pleasure in the fine grip of the well-made tires.

He hadn't watched the path to come here, but the distant lights of Barrow were visible and he sped toward them.

He took a couple of swallows of vodka and thought about Serena. He reflected on Buffy's obvious jealousy and it made him laugh. He roared with mirth as the lights of the town grew brighter in the windshield.

He passed a power station, then a large steel edifice teeming with lights, consisting of a dome with a huge tank on either side. A flicker on the edge of his vision made him turn, and he thought he saw a dark shape move swiftly to cover. He gave it not another thought, but took another drink of vodka, grinned and turned the steering wheel one way then the other. The truck seesawed and he felt the tires hydroplane, then bite in again. Fun.

Back at Serena's, Spike finished his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray she handed him.

"Thought you said you don't allow smoking in bed," he said mockingly.

Serena smiled and ran a possessive hand over Spike's curly head. "Unless it serves a purpose for me, my love."


End file.
